


La Côte

by Theoroark



Series: Dark Room [10]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Beach House, Cooking & Baking, Dissociation, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Sombra, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 11:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14914392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/pseuds/Theoroark
Summary: But the fact remained that, while most of the time missions invigorated Widow, there were times when they decidedly did not.-When Widowmaker is granted an impromptu vacation, Sombra takes care of her.





	La Côte

Widowmaker told Sombra, with a pride that Sombra desperately tried not to think too hard about, that she never felt as alive as she did at the moment of the kill. And certainly, Widow was usually zippier after missions, chatting and laughing in the flight back to base, pinning Sombra to the wall on the walk back to her quarters. Sombra did not begrudge Widow an inch of the life she had managed to claw back from Talon, and so when Widow said this, she did not argue.

 

But the fact remained that, while most of the time missions invigorated Widow, there were times when they decidedly did not.

 

Sombra recognized that Madrid was one of those as soon as she got to the rendezvous point. Widow was waiting for her with an unnatural stillness. She was a sniper, yes, she avoided unnecessary movement and noise, but her eyes did not track Sombra as she walked into view, and she did not say a word of greeting. Her face was eerily unreadable. She only broke her paralysis when Sombra reached for her hand, and only then to flinch away. Sombra took a deep breath.

 

“Okay,” she said. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

 

The drop ship was a couple blocks away. Sombra began to head towards it, and Widow fell in beside her. Against every impulse, Sombra kept silent, until her knuckles accidentally brushed against Widow’s.

 

“Sorry,” she said. She whispered, for some reason. As though Widow was a deer that was liable to bolt.

 

Widow didn’t respond, as Sombra expected. But she did swing her arm a little closer to Sombra’s as they walked, letting their knuckles graze again. Sombra studied her face closely, and, finding it still opaque, let Widow initiate the minute touches without comment.

 

-

 

“Well done, Lacroix,” Akande said, as Sombra and Widow walked onto the drop ship. Sombra said nothing– as was expected, Akande had not praised her, rarely did– but Widow did not acknowledge him either, quickly breezing past him in strapping into one of the flight seats. Akande frowned. “Lacroix?”

 

Sombra sighed. She had been dreading this part. “She’s not talking.”

 

Akande turned to her, his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, she’s not talking?”

 

“It happens sometimes. After missions. She’ll be fine soon. She just needs some time.”

 

“Some time,” Akande repeated skeptically. Sombra saw her opening, and she was nothing if not an opportunist.

 

“Well. Some time off, that is. I can keep an eye on her, if you want.”

 

“She can take time off at the base,” Akande said. “I see no reason why you should be her sole caretaker. Talon has far more resources than you do.”

 

“I know that,” Sombra said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “But that’s kind of the problem. If you take her back to base, she’s just going to be taken to see Moira. If you just let me take her on a vacation, just a couple days, tops, I’ll make sure she's able to actually decompress.”

 

Akande rubbed his face. “Moira is her doctor. And Moira is your superior.”

 

“Moira’s a feckless cunt, is what she is.”

 

“Enough, Sombra!” Sombra glared at him mulishly as he raised his voice. “I don’t have to discuss this with you. I’m your boss. I’m not your friend.”

 

“No, you’re not,” Sombra spat. “But you’re Widow’s friend. And I thought that would count for something.”

 

Akande stared at her for a moment, then walked back to Widow and knelt down. “Lacroix,” he said, and for a man who incessantly espoused conflict and pain, Sombra had never heard him sound so gentle. “Do you want to take some time off? Or do you want to come back to base?” Widow did not move, her eyes fixed in middle distance, and Akande squeezed her shoulder. “There are no wrong answers here. You’re not going to be punished. It’s whatever you think will help the most.”

 

There was silence, for a beat. Then, Widow shifted her gaze to Akande’s face, and then to Sombra. Akande looked between Sombra and Widow and nodded.

 

“Right.” He stood and smiled gently down at Widow. “I’ll mark this down as one of your vacations. Get in touch with me when you can. I’d like to know how you’re doing.” As he walked back to Sombra, his face turned stony once more. “Where are you going?” he asked in a low voice.

 

Sombra glanced over his shoulder. Widow was staring at nothing once more. “The Riviera,” she said. “It’s her favorite vacation spot. She has a house there.” She began to walk back to Widow, only to be stopped when Akande grabbed her shoulder and spun her back to face him.

 

“You will take care of her,” he said quietly. “Or you will face consequences.”

 

It was the most threatening he had ever been, and all Sombra could do was laugh.

 

-

 

Widow seemed to recognize the beach town out the window, even at night, because she walked with purpose off the drop ship, leaving Sombra struggling to keep up. Widow quickly walked up the steps and then stared blankly at her lock. Sombra sighed as she caught up to her.

 

“You had to go analog,” she grumbled, pulling her gun out of her holster. “I don’t know how to hack these, so stand back.”

 

She’d have to buy Widow a new lock, Sombra thought, as she gingerly pushed the door open and Widow walked in. But it was better than breaking a window.

 

Widow didn’t seem concerned with her security, and was focused on taking off her body armor, and then the sweaty and bloody spandex beneath it. Sombra gawped, less out of lust than at a complete loss at how to proceed.

 

“Hey, Widow, you have a change of clothes somewhere–” Widow walked to her room and Sombra followed. But when Sombra turned to the chest of drawers, Widow just collapsed on the bed.

 

“That’s a good idea,” Sombra said, when she saw Widow’s closed eyes. “Get some sleep. I’ll be on the couch if you need me for anything, okay?” Widow did not respond, and Sombra turned and left. She settled down on the sofa, frowning at the uncomfortable velvet upholstery.

 

“Seems like a terrible idea for a beach house,” she muttered, shifting in place. She pulled her holovid off her belt and glanced at it. A missed message from Akande. She sighed, set it on the coffee table, and closed her eyes.

 

She was not sure how long it had been, but she was groggy and sore when Widow woke her. “What?” she rasped, waking quickly as she registered Widow’s blank face and remembered the previous night. “What’s wrong?”

 

Widow did not say anything, just turned and walked back to her room. Sombra stared at her naked back, then stood and followed.

 

Widow was lying on her side on the edge of the bed, and did not say anything when Sombra closed the door behind her. Sombra lay down, carefully keeping a few feet between her and Widow. Widow did not move. Sombra let out a long breath.

 

“Good night,” she said, and closed her eyes again.

 

-

 

When she woke, Widow was still asleep– a rare occurrence. Normally, Widow rose before the sun, and Sombra, a chronic insomniac, was almost never up to see her off. Sombra blinked, running her hand through her gel-tacky hair, and activated Widow’s holovid. Eight AM. If she wanted breakfast ready before Widow was up, she didn’t have much time.

 

She didn’t have high hopes when she opened the refrigerator, but still managed to be disappointed. All Widow had was a rotting bag of kale, a bottle of white wine, and a takeout container that Sombra was too afraid to open. She looked out the window, saw a sleek convertible in the driveway, and smiled. That, she knew how to hack.

 

The closest grocery store was a tiny thing, an organic co-op catering to the town’s hippie-rich crowd. Sombra pushed her cart through the aisles and tried to remember the specifics of Widow’s diet. A lot of iron, a lot of leafy greens and red meat. She grabbed a bag of spinach, and after a pause, some bright tomatoes and a cucumber, so that it would feel more like a salad and less like a ration. She ordered steaks from the butcher and as they prepared them, she eyed the baking aisle. She was a universally competent cook, but a baker by trade. But Widow wasn’t much for carbs. She liked baguettes– as much as she tried to deny it– but Sombra doubted she could compete with the Parisian bakers Widow was accustomed to.

 

Still, she couldn’t resist grabbing some staples and a bag of chocolate chips. Just in case, she thought as she checked out.

 

Widow was up when she got back, and watched Sombra ambivalently as she struggled with the door and her grocery bags. She had put on a robe, Sombra noted, though she had failed to securely tie it. Sombra could swear she saw Widow’s eyebrow raise when she hurried over and pulled the robe tighter around her.

 

“You have wall to wall windows,” she said, quickly pivoting to the kitchen. “I know it’s not that far from that spandex they had you wear, but still.”

 

Widow had a sizable spice collection, and Sombra had gotten cheeses at the store, but she remembered the stolid simplicity of loaves of rye and thermoses of bean stew the bakers had given her as a child, after they lit the Yahrzeit candle for her parents. And so she just added a dash of milk to the eggs, whisking them in the pan and gently sprinkling the finished omelette with salt.

 

“‘Bon appetit’ is French, yeah?” Sombra asked, as she placed the omelette on the kitchen table. Widow briefly looked over from her post, leaning against the refrigerator, and then looked away. Sombra tried to keep the smile on her face. “I’m not making the coffee until you start eating.”

 

Widow did not move. Sombra tapped her fingers against the wooden surface. “Don’t think you can wait me out. I got an energy drink at the store. I’m set.” Widow did not need to know that the energy drink in question had been some foul ginger juice blend that she had dumped on the side of the road after three sips.

 

Widow still did not respond. Sombra’s face fell. “Widow,” she said softly. “Please eat something? For me?”

 

Widow walked over to the table and sat down. She picked up her fork, cut off a small piece of the omelette, and took a bite. Sombra smiled again as she stood, and could not resist kissing the top of Widow’s head as she made her way to the coffee machine.

 

-

 

Widow moved around the house in spurts, sometimes sitting on the deck, sometimes dipping downstairs to the virtual range she had set up in her basement. But she did little overall, did not touch her holovid or the books that filled the shelves that, from their scientific and antiquated titles, Sombra could only assume were purely decorative anyway. Sombra knew it wasn’t a rational thing, but she still could not understand how she did it. She remembered, with more dread than she did any fight or murder, her first plane ride. It had been a short thing, just a skip to Panama for her gender corrective surgery, but her sixteen year old self had still nearly broken down. No internet, no devices, she hadn’t thought to bring books or magazines, just recycled air and cramped quarters and nothing to distract her from her thoughts. The lack of stimulation had been overwhelming. She couldn’t imagined doing, literally, nothing for more than five minutes, let alone hours.

 

Widow didn’t seem to be getting worse, though, so Sombra chalked it up to another one of their great differences, and immersed herself in her distractions. Sometime in the evening, Akande called.

 

“How is she?” he said, with no preamble. Sombra cast her eye over to Widow, who was sitting on the living room sofa, staring at a large painting of aspen trees.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Let me speak to her.”

 

“I mean, you can speak to her,” Sombra said, pushing up from the kitchen table. “But she’s still not talking, so I hope you’re not expecting a great convo.”

 

“Not talking?” Sombra stopped in her tracks, frowning at Akande’s tone. “You said you were going to help her. Why isn’t she back to normal?”

 

“Okay, hang on.” Sombra pivoted and leaned against the table, her back to Widow. “Let me clarify. You can talk to her if you’re not going to be shitty about it.” When Akande could not seem to respond with anything more than sputtering, she clarified. “Don’t act like she’s fucking up by not magically being all better. Just say hi, tell her you miss her, and you’re here for her. None of your ‘the struggle is what helps us grow’ bullshit right now.”

 

“Sombra–”

 

“You wanted me to take care of Widow, right?” Sombra interrupted. “This is me taking care of her.”

 

Akande did not say anything, but Sombra could swear she heard muffled laughter on the other end of the call.

 

“Alright,” he said after a moment. “Just let me speak to her.”

 

Sombra handed the holovid off to Widow, and watched her static face until she dropped the holovid from her ear and handed it back to Sombra, the call ended.

 

-

  


By the evening, after she had grilled the steaks and Widow was back on the sofa, Sombra gave in. She set her baking supplies out on the counter and began to make cookies.

 

She should have gotten ingredients for something more complex, she thought, as she searched Widow’s cabinets for a blender. Make some rugellah, the good kind, absolutely drenched in chocolate. Or some orejas, maybe she could tease Widow into talking, Widow always insisted that their proper name was palmiers.

 

But her chocolate chip cookies were world class. This would do. She mixed some nutmeg into the batter before spooning it out onto the baking sheet, and slid the first batch into the oven. Then she curled up on the sofa, on the opposite end from Widow, and waited.

 

The cookies had about five minutes left when she saw Widow’s nose twitch. She carefully maintained a straight face, but kept one eye on Widow. She seemed a bit more restless, now– shifting in her seat, hands moving. Sombra knew she was smiling now, but couldn’t quite stop herself.

 

The oven dinged. “Oh, hey,” she said casually, sliding off the sofa. “They’re ready.” She heard the rustle of Widow turning around in her seat as she sauntered to the kitchen. When she popped back over the counter, the tray in her mitted hand, she pulled a surprised face as Widow locked eyes with her. “Oh, did you want some?” she asked innocently.

 

Widow stood and walked to the counter. Sombra sighed and began to remove the cookies with a spatula, placing them slowly on a plate. “I don’t know if I should share,” she mused. “I’ve been doing all the cooking. And cleaning. Really, it’s not fair.”

 

“Well,” Widow said, reaching over her and grabbing a cookie. “You’re in my house, and you used my credit card to buy this stuff, so.” Then she turned on her heels and sat down at the kitchen table.

 

Sombra stared at her for a moment, very aware that her jaw was hanging open. Then she scrambled over to her and threw her arms around her. Widow clumsily patted her back.

 

“So I’m allowed to have one, then?”

 

“You’re back,” Sombra said into her hair. Widow laughed softly.

 

“You fool.” Widow kissed her, then paused, her expression inscrutable. Then she leaned back in and booped Sombra’s nose, a small smile on her face. “I’ve been here all along.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this hc/art](http://collophora.tumblr.com/post/174706891451/okay-but-imagine-if-widow-sometime-falls-in-total) by @collophora on tumblr!
> 
> I'm @tacticalgrandma on tumblr if you want to talk to me there.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and any comments/kudos will make me love you <3


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